


An Unusual Pet

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animals, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Happy Sherlock, John would do anything for Sherlock, Pets, Possibly Pre-Slash, Sherlock wants a pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Written for the September 2017Sherlock Challengeprompt "Animals".Sherlock has accidentally created an unusual animal. Will John let him keep it?





	An Unusual Pet

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from :-)

John returns from a week long conference, dumping his bag just inside the flat door and the first word from his lips is “Tea?” as he closes the flat door behind him.

Sherlock is seated in his leather chair, he ignores John's question and continues examining an article he has clenched in his hand. He doesn’t look up, he doesn’t peek over the top to see John hesitate at the closed kitchen door, he doesn’t see John’s indecision as to whether he should open the door or not, and he definitely doesn’t see John shake his head, set his shoulders and enter the kitchen. What he absolutely does see is John come barrelling straight back out of the kitchen slamming the door behind him.

“What did you do!?” John shouts leaning against the door.

Sherlock lays his magazine aside and tries to keep a neutral expression, “Nothing.”

“What did you do?” John repeats, quieter but with more menace in his voice.

“Nothing.” Sherlock replies and frowns at the high defensive tone that had emerged.

John takes a step towards him, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Sherlock falters, “I, well, it's more, something...I...didn't...do.”

“Which was?”

“I, maybe, didn't, well I did, but, maybe not enough, seal that compound I was testing the other week away properly.”

John purses his lips angrily, “So now we have that thing in our kitchen.”

“She's very friendly.”

“Oh, really, that’s ok then. A bloody three foot long ant in our kitchen is perfectly fine?”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Sherlock replies carefully.

“You know what? I think I am. Get rid of it! Now!”

“No. I have experiments to run on her.”

“I am not living with a giant insect. Take it away!”

“Where do you expect me to take her? She seems to like it under the table in there.”

“I don’t know, the park, with all the other ants.”

“She can hardly interact with them now can she John. What would she eat in the park? She would be a bit obvious going through the bins, or chasing people for their picnics.”

John rolls his eyes, “I don’t know, take it to Baskerville, they love weird shit there.”

Sherlock looks downcast, “But...they might hurt her.”

“Oh for...it's an ant. I don’t care, I just know it can't stay here.”

Sherlock gets out of his chair but doesn’t meet John's eyes, he grabs his coat then opens the kitchen door, “Come along Formi, John says you have to go.”

“You named it?”

“It is derived from the scientific name for ant, I didn't name it.”

“But you did.” John says with an amused grin.

“Doesn't matter, I'll take her away, it's fine.” Sherlock pulls a leather lead and collar from his pocket and attaches it around what John supposes you would call it's neck.

“You got it a lead!”

“They have an excellent sense of smell, I thought perhaps with training it could be useful. It doesn't matter.” Sherlock leads the giant insect out from the kitchen, it follows waving its antenna in John's direction curiously.

John peers back into the kitchen and sees a bowl of sugar on the floor and some kind of nest made of newspaper under the table. The thing that really gives him pause though is the roughly sewn soft toy in the shape of an ant lying under the kitchen chair.

“You made it a toy?!”

Sherlock calls from the hallway “Animals need stimulation, it wouldn't be fair to not attempt to enrich her life.” And John hears footsteps and slight clicking of Formi’s feet descending the stairs.

John then notices the coffee table in the lounge is covered in books and magazines about insects and ants, and, he has to close his eyes to check he isn’t dreaming, Sherlock's notebook open on a page full of sketches of ants, no, not ants, one ant. What really seals it is the photograph he finds when he flips through the notebook, a selfie of Sherlock looking unreasonably happy with his arm around ‘Formi’. Another glance around the room reveals a framed picture of the ant wearing Sherlock’s ‘ear-hat’ at a jaunty angle next to a proud looking Sherlock.

John tips his head back and takes a deep breath. He knows he's probably being manipulated, but Sherlock wouldn’t bother if he didn’t really want to keep the damn thing. Right. Ok. It's no more insane than the rest of his life. He looks out of the window to the street below and has to laugh when he sees Sherlock trying, and failing spectacularly, to hail a cab while accompanied by what to most people must look like some kind of nightmare. Black, six legs and mandibles opening and closing slowly, its carapace shining in the late afternoon sunshine and rubbing an antenna affectionately up and down Sherlock's arm. At least John hopes its affectionate, maybe it's tasting him for dinner. As he watches a cab slows down, almost stops, then speeds away when the driver spots the giant insect.

He opens the window and shouts down “Oi!! Get back up here, you can keep it, but you have to explain to Mrs Hudson.”

Sherlock beams up at him and leads his pet back inside. On re-entering the flat he releases the ant which scuttles back into the kitchen. “Excellent. Mrs Hudson already knows. She said at least an ant wouldn’t shed hair everywhere or keep the neighbours up by barking all night. She has plans to knit Formi a Christmas hat, but only if you agreed she could stay.”

John sighs, “Anything it breaks or eats you replace.”

“Um, about that.”

“What?” John asks resigned to hearing about damage to what will inevitably be his property.

“She accidentally ate several of your jumpers, and that novel you were reading last week.”

John rolls his eyes, “Watch it, or she just might ‘eat’ your violin bow or one of your posh suits.”

Sherlock looks shocked at the thinly veiled threat, “I'm sure she'll be more careful in future.”

“She'd better. Come on then, what else have you been up to while I've been away.”

Sherlock perks up considerably and replies eagerly, “I'm trying to teach her to fetch. She's making admirable progress. Would you like to help?”

Which is how John ends up spending the rest of the day and a good part of his weekend throwing sticks across the living room for an ant, feeding her sugar lumps when she returns them, and pretending not to notice the joyful smile that Sherlock is trying to hide from him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :-D


End file.
